


She

by TwistLimeGreen72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Beginnings, F/M, First Meetings, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistLimeGreen72/pseuds/TwistLimeGreen72
Summary: Gwaine tells a story about a thief he met once upon a time. He swears he's never met another like her! The others think he's insane!
Kudos: 1





	1. The Reach

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, y’all! This is my first ever Merlin story. I love the show but never even considered writing for the fandom, then this little bit of inspiration struck. And like so many ideas, it started writing itself, so it's grown beyond my original idea. Gwaine is just too much fun! I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Much thanks to my beta! And to the amazing USA123! Both of you are so great and helpful, even if the fandom is not one of your own! 
> 
> And a couple of words. 
> 
> Sidhe: pronounced She (though I assume anyone who's watched the show knows that.) 
> 
> Niamh: pronounced Neev
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable, only my OC.

”What about you?” Merlin asked, pulling Gwaine's attention to him. 

The young warlock waited as Gwaine sat up from his reclined position. Gwaine flicked away the sliver of wood he was cleaning his teeth with. ”Me?” 

The light from the campfire made shadows dance around the trees in the place they'd picked to bed down this night. The topic bounding about their campfire tonight was Elyan’s newly found adoration for a village girl in Camelot who worked at the tavern.

”He adores a different one every night. A better question would be if he can remember any of their names,” Elyan observed, leaning closer to the fire, his red cloak thrown back from one shoulder. Firelight gleaned off the chainmail he wore. The others laughed good-naturedly. 

“I doubt any of them stay around once they learn his bathing habits,” Lancelot chimed in. He shifted on the log he sat on across the fire, beside Elyan. The two shared a conspiratorial glance. 

Gwaine remained quiet, a thoughtful expression on his face. “There was one. Once.” 

The seriousness of his expression brought some gravity to the situation. It only lasted for a moment before Leon said, “She must have been soft in the head.” 

A wistful expression slid across Gwaine’s face. “What a woman she was.”

There was a moment of silence. They all knew Gwaine liked women, pretty much all women, if the truth were known. And not just the ones he charmed kisses from either. He would champion any in need but had never heard him speak of any of them in particular. 

“You’re not joking?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine shook his head no.

“How did you meet her?” Lancelot inquired next, genuinely curious.

Gwaine placed his elbows on his bent knees. “Now that’s a tale worth the telling,” he said, with a slow nod of his head. “She had the flashing blue eyes and the sharpest tongue. She just seemed to dare me to try and catch her.” 

After a moment of silence, Percival spoke. “Well?” Gwaine made no immediate reply, Percival asked again, moving away from the tree he was leaning against, ”Did you catch her?” 

”If she was smart, she didn't let him,” Arthur said dryly.

Gwaine’s customary broad grin settled across his face. “I tried,” he began, shaking his head once as the memory took him. Being caught was the last thing she had in mind. “I tell ya boys, there was something fey about her. She was the one that ensnared me.” 

“So you’re saying she was a sidhe?” Elyan asked, a doubtful gleam in his dark eyes.

“No, but she is the one who stole into my room in the middle of the night, and I was never the same.”

”Well, this ought to be an interesting tale,” Arthur said, reclining back against his saddle, arms folded behind his head. He'd removed it from his horse and placed it by the fire earlier. ”Gwaine tells us how a not a fey entrapped him.”

Gwaine picked up the apple he had pulled from his saddlebag and bit into it, a far off look on his face. After he chewed, he began. ”I met her in the land of eternal youth.”

The statement brought more looks and noises of derision from all but Arthur. ”Now I know he's lying,” Elyan said. 

”Osheen’s Reach?” Arthur questioned after another moment of silence. Gaius had told him of the tale of Osheen and the land of eternal youth sometime ago when they were searching for Niamh’s spear. 

Gwaine nodded.

”The Reach,” Arthur went on. ”It was once thought a gateway to the land of the Sidhe was there.” There were still remnants of many druid shrines in the forests and mountains near the village. It also sat almost directly on the border of Lot’s kingdom to the north. Margouse raised the village, and the old keep at The Reach fell when she and Morgana brought Cenred’s army against Camelot not so long ago. But if the truth were known, The Reach wasn't prosperous. It had tettered for years under the stewardship of an aging old man with no male heir and two daughters who were said to be of odd natures. Years of failing crops and raiding from the north had taken their toll as well as had his father's dismissal of both the family and the ”pervading lawlessness” of the region. Arthur had never understood why his father didn’t shore up his most northern defense.

”I don't think she was the most beautiful woman I've ever met, but I've never met another like her.” Gwaine was fully aware of how ludicrously absurd that statement sounded, but he meant every word of it. The image of blue eyes wide with surprise, slightly parted lips, and flushed cheeks filled his head. Her surprise in that moment was nothing compared to his.

”A poet, you are not. Let’s get to the story before we start to think you're stalling,” said Lancelot. 

”I wandered north, not long before I met Arthur and Merlin the first time.” The memory pulled him deeper and deeper. ”I stopped at The Reach for food and a night in an inn.” It rained for nearly the entire journey north, and he needed to dry out. ”I’d felt like someone was watching after I left the smith. It was her from an upstairs window in the tavern;” he was confident of that now. He only saw the form of someone then. Now, he was sure. ”I know that now.”

Again those flashing eyes filled his head. ”There I was minding my own business,” Gwaine began missing the speculative looks passing between the others at his choice of words. ”Not knowing what was waiting for me.”

Gwaine adjusted his hold on the saddlebags he had flung over his shoulder, ever aware of his surroundings. His other hand rested on the hilt of his sword. A heavy chill hung in the wet air. The sky was grey, and it smelled of snow. Gwaine tugged the side of his recently acquired cloak more tightly around him. The lands of the North were rougher, and so were their people than those of the south. Here there was still a wildness that bespoke of the old way and sacred rites like The Wild Hunt. 

The village at The Reach was more of a small town than a village. Rows of aged stone and wood buildings lined a handful of streets, but it had never been a prosperous place. Not in Gwaine's recollection anyway. It was the sort of place you could find a brawl or a game of knife throwing, and the people tended to be boisterous and full of life. The trip from the smith to the inn took him directly through the small market and across the village green. Mud pulled at his boots as he walked. For reasons he never really thought about, he felt far more at home in places like this than the grand civilized cities. 

Still, he had no illusions about where he was. He was careful to keep the most of his coin hidden; he could feel the weight inside the leather vest he had for once tied closed. He glanced about him, still feeling eyes following him.

Gwaine’s wanderings were profitable this time. He stopped in a town where he'd earned money betting he could unarm any man with a sword. A bold declaration, even for a man with his skill, but it was not the first time he made such a boast when he was light on funds. The noble who oversaw the lands offered Gwaine a tidy sum to instruct his son. The son was five and ten and a spoiled child, which in itself had created its own share of problems, but the money made it worthwhile.

What he really wanted was a tankard of mead. His attention moved to the large wooden structure on the other side of the green. However, he would instead find himself a room first. If memory served him, there was a public room at the inn that served food and drink. 

Gwaine sidestepped an old woman who moved into his path, smiling politely at her. His attention shifted to the tavern again, movement in one of the upper windows caught his attention. A figure stood just back from the window, arms folded over their chest, booted foot resting on the windowsill. Gwaine couldn't make out the face, but he was sure the observer was watching him.

Gwaine looked away, never letting on that he had noticed and continued for the inn. Just as he reached the door, it opened, a petite young blond stepped out. Hair pulled back in a braid; her cheeks instantly turned bright red as their gazes met. 

A board grin settled onto his face as he grabbed the door, holding it for her. He bowed his head. ”My lady.” 

Gwaine looked back over his shoulder, watching the girl for a moment. She turned her head, giving him a sidelong glance, and her skin flushed even more. His brows lifted. He planned to stay just the night. Maybe he should stay longer. 

His attention left the girl. It darted across the village green, the figure shifted in the window again and vanished completely. 

Xxx

Aideen huddled deeper into the recessed doorway, placing the sole of one booted foot against the alcove wall. The fur lined hood of her cloak rested over her dark hair and partially hid her face. She still felt the chill in the air despite the layers of wool and leather and the fur mantle she wore. It was the kind of cold that sunk into your very bones.

She had departed from her companions at the tavern some minutes ago but didn't enter the inn. She just continued to wait and watch for the stranger. Ban, one of the tavern boys, had been at the blacksmith's when the man rode into town and had seen the purse the newcomer had tucked inside his vest.

Ban had mentioned it when he came into the meeting room with a picture of mead. The general opinion of her companions was the man would be best not to let anyone else catch sight of his purse. The Reach had always attracted a lawless type, but there was something in the very air these days. She knew the Druids of the northern forests felt something was coming. There was talk of a prophecy—an awakening of the old powers.

All of the villagers had learned to be watchful of strangers a long time ago. Too many border raids had made them all weary. Mercenaries from the north sometimes found them to be easy targets. 

She knew her sister would caution her against doing anything— everyone in The Reach knew them; the risk was too significant. Aideen ignored the thoughts of her sister and the antsy feeling they brought with them. She also knew Branor, who had plenty of feelings on their alternate source of revenue, would be against this. But taxes had to be paid, and people needed to eat. Determined not to think about the reproach she knew she would receive from him, Aideen pushed away from the wall. 

She headed around the back of the tavern and slipped through the kitchen door. She smiled at the grey-haired woman who looked up at her from where she cut up root vegetables. Aideen's smile grew as she pushed her hood back from her dark braided hair. The warmth from the huge stone fireplace engulfed her, chasing the chill away.

Maeve smiled in return, wiping her hands on her apron. ”What brings you to my kitchen, child?” 

”Warmth,” Aideen said, moving to where she could see the public room through the doorway. Giant chandeliers overhead illuminated the dark room; a fire burned in a fireplace of equal dimension to the one in this room. Several long tables sat lengthwise in the room. Her eyes drifted across the space, and the small number of patrons present, landing on the stranger. 

She hoped he would find him here. Dora, Maeve's grand-niece, batted her dark lashes at something the man said. A broad grin appeared on his face; for a moment, it surprised her. Aideen watched even closer before she realized why she was paying such close attention. If the village stories were true, Dora had become a favorite of the inn travelers, and for more than just her personality. Aideen wasn't surprised to see the stranger's interest, Dora was beautiful. 

Maeve tapped Aideen on the arm. Aideen looked down to find a stoneware mug thrust into her hands. Warm cider. A smile lit her face again. ”Mmmmm, my favorite.” 

”How is your da?” Maeve inquired as she set back about the task of chopping up vegetables.

Aideen let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall. She folded one arm over her chest. “He’s not much better.” There was little anyone could do; even her younger sister Aisling and her healing arts couldn't bring back their father's spirit. The mind was a tricky thing to heal; either it came with time, or it just got worse until the person was completely lost to their own psyche. Aideen and her sister feared that, in their dear father’s case, it was the latter. With every day, he seemed to slip further. 

Aideen dismissed the nagging feeling in her stomach and turned her attention back to the stranger. If Ban were right, at least she could rest easy about something for a while. Dora had moved on to the next patron but kept casting glances over her shoulder. 

“Handsome face, hasn't he? My Dora couldn’t get out there fast enough.” Maeve said, pulling Aideen's pale blue eyes back to her. Just as quickly, her attention returned to the man in question, brows lifted. 

”Aye. I suppose so if you like a man with a large nose and a thin beard.” She lifted her mug of cider to her lips again, watching as he took a drink also.

Maeve was silent for a moment then chuckled heartily. ”I swear child; you'd somehow find fault with Prince Arthur, himself.” 

Aideen's attention returned to her companion. The older woman continued to chop up the vegetables, her cheeks rosy, laughter in her grey eyes. Aideen studied her friend for a moment. She lifted her mug to her lips. ”Well, I have heard he has a weak chin,” she said straight-faced. She smiled into her cup. Aideen had never heard any such thing, but Maeve's reaction made the lie worthwhile.

”You mark my word, lass; someday you'll find a man that's not so easy to dismiss.”

It wasn't that Aideen didn't sometimes wish there was someone, but there was too much at stake. She would never, could never let a man take control of all she had done and subjugated her or her sister. ”There's no room for a man in my life, Maeve. You know that.” She said the last with meaning. 

Maeve nodded. What she did know was Aideen of The Reach was a fiercely independent lass. She’d had little choice but to be since she was old enough to lead. A woman in Aideen's position couldn't afford not to be. Her life meant she had to be strong. Maeve just hoped it was enough. 

”Why the sudden interest in this stranger?” Maeve asked. 

Aideen knew she needed to be cautious. She always was. ”I just wish the strangers would keep going.” The statement was true in some ways, and others not. But she knew she needed to move if she stood here watching him any longer Maeve would only grow suspicious. 

”That would defeat the purpose of having an inn, don't you think?” 

Aideen nodded. ”Well, there is that.” she pushed away from the wall and placed her empty cider mug near the washbasin. 

”No need to fash yourself; he only paid through the ’morrow. He’ll be gone soon enough.” The older woman laughed softly. ”He even asked Feargus for our best room.” 

Aideen smiled and made her way to the door, tucking that last piece of information away. Aiden paused with her hand on the door pull. ”Thanks for the cider.”

She stepped out into the cold air, pulling her hoods back up, she made her way toward where she tied up her horse an hour or two ago. There was little she could do at this second.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Wildlings

-—-  
Later that night.

-—-

Gwaine stepped out of the tavern and into the cold night. He had forgotten how good the mead they served here was. He'd partaken more than he should have, but he was still far from intoxicated, just pleasantly warm, or so he told himself. They imbued the honeyed amber liquid with spices that grew in the surrounding mountains' or the fells as some locals called them.

A light dusting of snow lay crunchy under his boots; his breaths came in small white clouds. The full moon hung large in the sky, illuminating the village and the land around in blue light. It was the worm moon and the last full moon of winter. In the distance, you could see the old fortress keep sitting lone sentry atop a hill. It kept watch over the town below and the road through the mountain pass to the north. 

A few people hurried back and forth; small braziers lit the village green. A lone figure was limping across the green toward him. Their shoulders hunched. He could see how raggedy their cloak was even in the moonlight.

Gwaine started for the inn, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He watched the figure move closer. The sound of laughter across the square drew his attention; two figures entered the inn. One was the dark-haired serving girl from earlier. Very friendly, she was. Though, if friendly was an adequate term was debatable. She had made her interest clear. Gwaine had always preferred to be the one doing the charming as it were, and he liked having to work for it. Dora required no work. Still, he was careful not to offend the girl; thus, he tried not to offend women. His new friend Dora was most willing to serve whatever need he might have. 

His attention returned to the path as the figure stumbled into his chest. Gwaine put out his hands, helping them stand back up. The pungent aroma of horse manure filled his nose. He let go and nearly jumped back; they smelt like they rolled around in a stable for a week straight. The figure staggered into him again. A hood hid their face. Filthy rag wrapped hands clutched at him. Gwaine set them away as quickly as possible. He stifled the need to gag. 

”Are you alright?” He held his breath and turned his head slightly. 

The person nodded and grunted and continued on their way. Gwaine stayed there watching the retreating form. ”Damn it,” he cursed softly, his head hanging. It was going to freeze tonight. ”Wait!” he called, jogging after them.

The figure just kept going. ”Wait,” Gwaine called a second time.

The figure started running themselves. Gwaine’s steps slowed. He touched his vest. “Damn it,” he cursed again. His hands slid over his chest and along his belt. His coin was gone. He pulled his sword, sprinting after the thief as they darted between two buildings. 

-—-

Heart pounding, Aideen glanced over her shoulder and fled into the short alley beside the tavern. She pushed over a stack of barrels as she ran by them. Just as she reached the end of the alley, she heard him enter. She didn’t look. She turned right, running across the narrow road to another passage that led through rows of houses. Frost crunched under her feet, thin layers of ice broke over small puddles, muddying her boots. Warm light still fell from some windows. The hour wasn't really that late, but people tended to shutter their homes early in the cold season. She had to get to her horse; she left him tied up just out of the village center's sight. The stranger discovering what had happened this quickly was the last thing she had wanted. Still, she remained calm, and she kept running. It certainly was not the first time she'd had to escape a mark.

Aideen glanced over her shoulder as she untied the filthy cloak she wore, gathering it in front of her. She sprinted faster, her calf muscles burning. If it wasn't for the covering over her face, she knew her lungs would burn from the cold air.

Ahead of her, two alleys intersected. When she reached the spot, she threw the cloak into a slop barrel hidden in the shadow of the passage to the right and darted in the opening to the left. If she'd kept running straight, there were only six feet to the end of the alley and the street beyond. The way she had chosen was considerably longer but was the most direct route. She hurried behind a stack of crates and crouched down, knowing she would never make it to the end before he reached the intersection. She pressed herself into the wall as she peeked through the crack between them and the wall, the rough stone dug into her leg. 

She just needed a few seconds to make it to her horse before he reached her. 

She could hear his sprinting steps echoing in the cold night air. He slowed as he reached the spot near where she dropped the cloak into a barrel. Aideen held her breath, biting her lip. Keep going, the voice in her head whispered. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, body tense. She couldn’t see higher than his knees, the naked blade of his sword hung beside them. She knew he looked around. After a moment, he started running forward as she wanted. Aideen stood, relief rushing over her, she hurried down the alley, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. If she were lucky, when he exited the alley, he would continue through the rows of houses. Her muscles relaxed some. Her horse was just around the next building. 

-—-

Gwaine knew it was too easy when he took his first step. After a moment, he ran out into the street, his steps slowed. Right led out into the open fields beyond the village. Straight would take him through more rows of houses, but that didn't feel rightInstinct told him that's what the thief wanted him to do. If things were the other way around, that's what he would want him to do. He turned left and started running. Gwaine ran around the back of the building and sprinted around the corner. He slipped into a deep-set doorway just as his quarry ran out the end of the alley. 

The thief jogged backward a few paces, looking in his direction, then turned and sprinted back toward the village's center. Light glinted off of the pommel of a sword strapped to their waist. Gwaine needed to get in front of them. 

Gwaine moved out of his hiding place and hurried back out the alley the way he came. He had gone this way earlier today. He ran left as fast as he could, circling the building separating him from his quarry. 

He vaguely noticed the horse tied up not far away as he turned the corner, his heart pounding. His calf muscles were on fire.

Gwaine reached the end of the alley and stepped into the thief’s path, sword in hand. The smaller figure skidded to a halt. Gwaine toppled the stacks of crates behind him, blocking the closest avenue of retreat.

He held his sword up and pointed the tip at his companion. ”I'll have my money back.” 

The thief pulled their weapon, attention darting behind him, but made no reply. 

”What a nice sword,” Gwaine said. ”Shame, I will have to take it from you.” 

The thief snorted, then spun the sword in their hand before taking hold of it with both hands. They pivoted right and swung in an upward arch. 

Gwaine easily deflected the light blow, meant to toy with him and gauge his reaction. They moved a quarter turn to the right. The thief took the fool’s guard, the tip of their sword pointing at an angle toward the ground. 

Gwaine swung his sword in his own testing blow. His opponent quickly parried, deflecting his blade also. His opponent swung again; he countered with another quick action. Gwaine moved quickly, forcing the thief to defend. They spun away from him, parrying his next move. 

The thief came at him with a forward strike; Gwaine sprung out the way, just in time to miss the blade, and he threw his own assault. The thief danced out of reach just in time as well.

Gwaine circled his opponent, forcing them to defend against several small blows before he withdrew. Gwaine brought his sword up over his shoulder and waited. The smaller fighter came at him aggressively with an undercut, forcing Gwaine to go on the offensive. They pushed deeper into his space, striking quickly. 

Gwaine countered the next strike quickly, rushing his opponent again, with another volley of aggressive blows. The thief stumbled backward, their grip on their sword going lax as they tried to correct their balance. He attacked again and rolled his blade around his opponents, engaging the entire blade twice and pulling it. Gwaine caught the sword's hilt in mid-air. He drove the tip of his sword into the ground and raised the other's tip to the thief's throat. Gwaine rushed the thief backward toward the wall, the length of his new blade against their throat. ”Now, my money,” he reiterated.

A defiant light flashed through his assailant's eyes, and their chin lifted. Utterly refusing to give over despite the length of sword pressing against their throat, Gwaine couldn't help the flicker of admiration he felt. 

Still, he wanted what was his. Gwaine wondered if the thief would remain so defiant with the layers of dark linen removed from their face. He yanked the covering from their head. Dark hair tumbled around an oval face, lips slightly parted, a flush-stained skin. A heavy braid fell over the thief's right shoulder. Alarmed eyes stared up at him. 

Gwaine opened his mouth only to close it; he didn't move. 

Surprise slid from the thief's face, and something sharp poked into his ribs. ”If'n yeh dinna mind, I’ll be havin’ back my sword,” they said. 

A slow grin tugged at the edge of his lips. He did love an accent. However, this one wasn't common for this region. He moved back a hair. ”I believe I said the same about my coin.”

Eyes flashed again. Gwaine’s admiration grew far past a flicker.

All thought of his coin, gone, Gwaine said, ”I am most willing to accommodate you, love, but first, give me your name.” He said, lifting his arms further. He made no move to hand over the sword, however.

”I’m not yeh’r love.” Dark brows arched. ”How aboot yeh give me back my sword, and I willna divest yeh of yeh’r manhood?” 

A grin split his face, revealing straight white teeth. Gwaine tilted his head. He was confident no one had ever threatened that before. Something told him this one would try if given a chance. Something also told him it might be fun to let them try. Gwaine hissed as the knife in his ribs twisted more. 

”What's going on there?” a voice called, and a shadowy figure appeared in the alley's far end. It started moving toward them. A look of fear slid over his companions' face, and they skirted past him. Gwaine let his little thief go. 

He heard a horse bluster a moment later; its hooves pounding the ground. 

He grinned again. His attention dropped to the sword in his hand. Losing his money was almost worth it. 

–—–

Thanks for reading!


End file.
